Estudyanteng Pinoy Dormitorian

Oh, I win. Ok. Let’s go home na.

A big mistake.

Since
the announcement of the bout between Manny Pacquiao and Jorge Ivan
Solis was announced, I never anticipated that the fight would be worth
exalting that Manny
Pacquiao would eventually topple down Solis. A big mismatch. A big mistake…

Jorge
Solis is a great fighter. He has never lost a fight for the past ten
years or so. But Manny Pacquiao is too good for Jorge Solis. Pacquiao
who, by hand, had rivaled and triumphed, also lost, against some of the
world’s greatest boxers. By strength, experience, discipline, among
others, Pacquiao is obviously llamado.

Anyone,
from the bestest sports analyst in the world to my pea-sized contact
sport enthusiasm, would contend to that. But Team Pacquiao intently
handpicked a non-title holder. A mile away lesser athlete. A big
dreamer. But a sure loser.

Ah… err… No. I’m not thinking about something else.

Perhaps,
Team Pacquiao ployed to have this bout an expected triumph for the
betterment of his Congressional seat. Why can’t I come up with this?
Why choose an underdog for a major sponsored tourney?

To lose?

With this, can Pacquiao afford to have his loss influence his indecisive and over-the-counter electorate for the Lower House?

Of course not.

It’s
absolutely unfair for Jorge Solis even if Pacquiao suffer a hell lot of
headbutted brow cuts, for a fight that was already foreseen to favor
the obvious victor. He gained nothing but another glory for a worthless
fight.

Oh, no. Jorge Solis is not worthless. He did his best.
But his best is bested by Pacquiao who played him around in the first
few rounds. Jorge is nonetheless a victim of a vicious whatever of Team
Pacquiao.

I’m not proud of Pacquiao’s victory. My sympathies to Solis and his over confidence.

SWEET NOTHINGS:

1. Geneva
   Cruz who performed the National Anthem for the Philippines before the
   fight, sang terribly. She is a terrible singer. Why her? It could have
   been Regine. Or Sa
2. Leonora (the one who sang for the Mexicanos) was addressed as an international singer. Umm, who is she? ^_^
3. I was laughing at this part. Guess why.

No wonder. That black American boxer slept on the ring floor with stars and butterflies circling above his head.

OJT HUNTING

I
can’t imagine how hard it is to find good slots for internship in major
TV stations in Manila. Later did we know that most of these on-the-job
trainees have already found their sweetest spots in ABS-CBN or GMA7,
two companies where I so wanted to be employed.

To those who
have the goonies with good connections with these TV stations, or any
publishing or advertising companies in Metro Manila, please… I need a
slot for my OJT in my internship subject. Please help me…

This is my resume.
E-mail: neil[dot]alexandro[at]gmail[dot]com.
Mobile: 0921-593-4749 or 0905-2473606
Landline: (046)539-0366

                                   This is my very last entry for my feature writing subject. Pwe. I’m uber plastic here. Lol.

It took me only four hours to do this article (topic: Learning). The title suggests my lousiness to think deeper. Bleh.

This
is actually our final examination–a freestyle feature writing. We only
used pseudonyms with a short description at the end of our article. Yet
even if I placed codenames, our prof said my article is very
identifiable. I don’t know how or why. Maybe because they finally knew
I’m an active blogger. Whatever.

Emo mode. Plasticity mode.

(**WARNING - Uber long emo post. ^_^)

————-

My BA Mass Comm blockmates, 1st yr. 1st sem. Firm at 35.
Now, a finger countable 18.

"Anong plano mo pagka-graduate mo ng college?”
Mom asked while I was busy solving the missing equations of Einstein’s
Theory of Everything. Then after a spare of seconds I already found
myself staring at my computer screen while pondering about the question
seriously inside my head.

    I always wanted to be alone.

When I was still young, Mom would contend with my relatives if I can go
to school already. That was 14 years ago. They were like talking in
gibberish assuming that I would not understand their vernacular Aklanon
inside our house in Caloocan. But no, what I heard was I was the most mentally incapacitated creature in our clan;
the one whom everyone in the family should grudge about. For not being
friendly and for behaving like some moronic scumbag on the bangketa
republic.

While I was the most stupid
way back, my Kuya was the most anticipated—the exact opposite of me. He
had early experiences in Karate and Judo because he
was intelligibly disciplined and smart while I was the one who wanted
wearing only my sando and my undies and called them “panty” then
destroy all my Dad’s sculpture prototypes inside his 4 feet high
cupboard. They claimed that I got my retardation for eating
cockroach eggs and safety matchstick heads. Under the kulambo, I had
the hardest times in basic Mathematical operations. Mom even tried to
put my hands in good use just to catch up with one-digit additions on
my Kuya’s textbook. But my hands just turn red with the pain brought by
the fake leather belt.

    “You’re not going to school yet, A-an.” in a motherly-accented Tagalog.

That was how early I realized that discrimination is not just limited
to ‘parloric’ gay grotesqueness and blonde women—but also for the least
Promil-nurtured, by depriving me of the proper education and the
medication–of not preparing a “baon” of Magnolia Chocolait and 2 Hapi
House biscuits inside a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles lunchbox. But I least cared and only had childhood jealousies.

Simultaneously pinching the bubble wraps of my Dad’s sculpture
moldings, I boasted to myself loudly out loud. “I will be the best.” A
gleam of light then shone upon me. Allelujiah.

    For 10 years, I tried everything to become ‘un’stupid.
Reading and watching a lot of cartoons, I mean. If there’s a new book,
I’d read it alone. And then play with other kids afterwards. If I
glanced on the pencils inside my pen case, I’d draw and draw until the
cows run out of milk. Alone. I tried to be best in art, in PE, in
science and mathematics, and in music. Alone. I became the school
artist. I was a regular hide-and-seeker. I was a quiz bee spammer. I
was a math wizard. And I was a showmaker who loved to joined amateur
singing contests. But never sought help from other people. ‘Kinareer ko ang aking kabataan,’
that’s how they put it. I managed my yester years with educational and
recreational activities to prove that I am not mentally retarded and
all. And yes, I proved them wrong—and did it on my own.

But I
was never really happy. For years I wanted to accomplish everything
without the help of others because of the fright that one day I might
not be able to survive in the harshest conditions of life. So I kept on
learning.

    For four years in high school, I was stuck on the disillusionment that not reviewing in verbatim our textbooks in Social Studies will ruin my social life.
As if I have a good one. I became active in extra-curricular
activities, participated in intra and interschool competitions and
leave the school with a big banner or two in front of our school
entrance. I joined a lot of organizations, became active in all of them
and then desert them for so much frustration. I took studies seriously
and my talent fostering seriously. I keep on learning and learning and
learning as if I could be oriented in a variety of sorts. And that I
have kept myself with the company of the best and the brightest in our
batch, so as not to disappoint my parents and my clan even if they
really don’t want me to be highlighted with such prestige.

    I thought I’ve become a monster who could swallow up everyone on my path.

March 23, 2004, I was speaking in front of a white dressed crowd with
my 5-page long speech sliced in paragraphs. Then I heard all the
parents clapping and saw my mom crying for so much happiness. I finally
had redemption and gained retribution with their previous belittling.
Yet, it was not noticed in my speech that my knees were severely
shaking and my nerves already wracking to bits, not because of stage
fright but because of the graduation aftermath.

    What will I see in college?

    In college, it’s a whole lot different. It’s different from our high school setup. It’ll not be the same people I’ve used to linger with, to converse with, and to debate with.
It’ll be entering a new community of people from all walks, if not, the
extremes of life. Since then I started having doubts if I will be able
to cope with the changes of the setting and the characters involved in
this short story entitled “College Life”—if ever I can be happier.

    When I was in high school, everything is mandatory, especially in the creamiest sections. Everything is competition. There, you’ll see dogs bite each other’s torsos for the limelight of getting into the honor roll. There, backstabbing is rampant. One student may speak ill against the other to estrange him and become the topic of discussion—to be ridiculed and become insecure.
There, you can participate and collaborate. There, you must keep
yourself on the pace of the marathon. But in my experience in post high
school graduation, it’s a lot better. Happiness is crabbing and retribution except for the never-care-about-my-report-card students.

    But in college, it really is different.

    When I entered our very first class, there were some noisy people along the corridor.
Mass Comm students, I presume, so I approached the pack one meter away
from them. Then there is this one spur of silence upon my arrival.
After a short while, one dared to ask.

    “Sir, kayo po ba prof naming sa Bio Lab?” (Are you the Bio Lab professor?)

A few hours later, I found myself laughing with them by admitting I am
2 years younger than them. And then I though, “I think I’ll enjoy this
than before.”

College is a melting pot of races and
personalities. In short, diversity. Here, you can decide if you will
take life seriously or not. Here, you can choose your friends. You can
choose if you’re going to attend classes. You are not secluded in a
room where dogs bite each other’s torsos. You might, but it’ll be rare.
And here, you are concentrated on one specialization—the course you
wrote in on your pre-registration.

    For three years, I’m with a company of different people. There are clowns who will make up for the brightest of the day. There are the easy-go-lucky’ers who are not really that annoying but they collaborate with the clowns to make the day even brighter. There are silent types who prefer to chew their nails off than talking to the clowns. There are monsters, who either excel in academics or it’s just that their faces are practically deformed. There are smart people, and there are not so smart people. There are rich, and there are some who still can eat 3 times a day without extra rice on the side. There are ‘sociables’ and socialites. I was among the ‘unsociables’.But
being with them, I have learned a lot of lessons. Lessons that I never
garnered from all the literary pieces in our English Communication
subjects in elementary and highschool. Lessons that I will only learn
from good people. From truthful people. From real people.

    The
previous extreme years of my childhood happened to have molded the
monster in me of becoming so independent in terms of my outlook in life.
That I can face challenges on my own without having to get a greater
grip in the realization of ‘pain’ in life. That I can live by just
learning everything only by myself, like my Dad wants me to do. Indeed,
I have achieved the satisfaction of putting myself back to our family’s
map that there is someone like me who can be on top of the others in
terms of achievements and mental capacity whatever. But honestly, deep
inside me, I was never happy.

Because of Arabelle’s punches and
Jopay dance moves, because of Ichu’s Janggeum talent in impersonation,
of Kuya Butterfly’s standup comedy, of Daryl’s living Chicken Soup for
the Soul, of Zeus’ proactive perspective in democracy, of Kuya Emman’s
simple pleasures in music and humility, of Timmy’s fashion sense and
practicality, of Emrose’s Pops Fernandez attitude, of Darwin’s being
who he/she really is, of Aga’s effort to make history in vocal prowess,
of Ces’ Chaka Khan ear-piercing voice, of Jhonatan’s logic way of
ridiculing your truly, of Ate Rochelle’s unpredictable movement of her
skeletal system, of Ate Gen’s generosity in financial assistance and
cellphone loads, of Ate Nancy’s thoughtfulness in organizing things and
mandatory ‘volunteerism’, of Leoni’s cellphones and boyfriends and
agonizing dysmenorrhea, of Krizelle’s down-to-earth monstrosity in
singing, of Jayson’s laughable defamation of people around him, and of
all the teachers like Ma’am Lisette, Ma’am Joyce, Ma’am Nomananap, Sir
Cruzate, Sir Anciano, Ma’am Lising, and all who thought I can be good
or better without exerting too much effort…

    I’ve learned that I must live to love other people and myself rather than being so much egomaniacal.

We’ve been in the good times and the bad. After graduation, I don’t
know what will happen to me or to anybody else…It’s my very first time
that I really gained true friends. That I learned that friendship is
not compensating to class cards.

    Now, I still have no plans of what to do after college. All because of not wanting to be alone anymore.

I’m not alone anymore. No, I didn’t learn how to statistically analyze
the relationship of mass awareness to news & public affairs. I
gained friends. True friends that I would long for when I’m solitary.
That’s what I didn’t get in high school. That’s what I’ve really
learned in college.

Kids under hostage
seemed not to worry about everything.

March
28, 2007, I had my eyes and ears stuck nearly permanently on the TV
screen (I didn’t know how to until lately) when a flash report came in.
Thirty two preschoolers and four teachers were in a hostage of, surprisingly, the owner of their school, Mr. Jun Ducat.

At first I thought, was he mentally disturbed? Another public show of republic disgrace to the unjust abuses of the high class? And oh, another hostage after the tragic forgettable other?

Perhaps I would nod on that. It was a play production of someone who might have been desperado in providing for other people.

The hostage drama was no like other. The
bus venue was ingenious. The children being held captive was superb.
The no-choice-but-to-cry-a-river teachers were slightly antagonistic.
But it was not the innocence of the children nor the weeping of their
parents or the career moves of our dirty policemen. But the motive, the
demands,

Freer education and decent shelter for their families…

A whopping standing ovation.

The
hostage drama was a jawdropper for me. It broke out the culture in me
that most of our hostage takings here in the Philippines would be
another personal distress similar to stereotypical Filipino action
movies-personal redemption of honor, vengeance for being minisculed,
money of some sorts, or simply foreplaying. As far as I know, hostage
taking is more of personal reception.

But this time, he demands the benefits not for Ducat himself, but for the kids he staged as threat to be demised.

Why
would a person, an apparently altruistic one such as Ducat, resort to a
desperate move that would endanger his students, his employed faculty,
and others within the premise of the scenario for ‘education and
shelter’?

It’s because he knows that it would take 48 years or more for Malacanang to grant their promises.

Armando
"Jun" Ducat Jr., as far as I know, built a school (ie. Day Care Center)
using his own money. He provided appropriate school amenities using his
own money. He spends thousands of pesos for the salary of his teachers
using his own money. He buys clothes, school supplies, and other
facilities and equipment for such small scale academic institution
using his money. Later did I know that he has just undergone angioplasty so he might have run out of funds to suffice his future personal and interpersonal expenditures.

But
it is definitely wrong. I cannot tolerate his courageous act of having
these innocent kids to be traumatized by such criminal act.

However, I changed my mind since Ducat does not want to kill the children, successful or not, in the first place.

Ducat in detention with his wife and… a ghost?

No
one in this country would dare puts himself in critical condition. Not
even Mme. President nor Lito Atienza himself would showcase bravery and
justice for those who’ve been deprived by what they should’ve been
provided with for the past few years. Never.

Yes, it was a wrongful act of illegally apprehending innocent civilians to be under captivity and threat of annihilation.

But for those who consider that in this country people can only achieve the impossible by doing the impossible,
I would not effort to ponder and waste so much calories in thinking and
clasping my fingers. Is that what Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo and Lito
Atienza call as ‘justice’? Or plain arrogance because some low profile
Ducat blemished this blemishable country the Philippines?

Compare
it to our present administration and its cohoots in the military and
police, at least he did wrong for his instigation of righteousness. Not
pretentiously doing right for the promotion of civil abuse and human
rights violations.

——

Children of Parola, Manila cheering for the freedom of
their benefactor, Jun Ducat.

Even if Ducat is in prison, he was successful.

1. AMA promised to provide scholarships for all the kids, from elementary to college.

2. Parents of the former captives would praise him for his courageous act and would never care about what he did to their children.

3.
DSWD and DOLE finally paved their negligent arses to the slum areas of
Tondo to check the conditions of the families–to provide health and
economic assistance (in short, employment).

4. Took attention of foreign press for his deed.

5. Slapped Arroyo et al on their faces for their micro societal negligence.

Pathetic it was when I heard one of Arroyo’s proctors in the field trip of the 26 captives in Malacañang saying that ‘they were doing such not because of Ducat but because of their eager agencies to provide services for those who need it’.

Sinong niloko niyo?

———

Politicking always finds a place to bug out of the blue, even at the harshest times.

Ramon "Bong" Revilla, Jr. was there pala in the hostage crisis, my boobtube screamed at me. I thought there would be shrills of titillation but no. I was just disgusted.
I thought I would be frustrated for not seeing Bong in his red-caped
yellowish polyester fitted costume with a spanking big CB
print/embroidery on his chest. Seizing the day, huh?

Ducat never
called his attention, nor any celebrity in the world. The police would
never/should never call his attention unless it is of dire need that a
handsome yet potbellied action star turned politico is summoned by the
hostage taker et al. But he managed to put up a show that Captain
Barbell has just saved a feverish kid which in fact has just been
lifted 2 meters from the bus doorstep and carried to a ’supposedly the
proper authorized personnel’.

And then Chavit entered the scene
when darkness crawled the venue. I was just confused. Ducat was calling
for aide to provide children and their families because of government
deprivation. Government deprivation is resulted from graft corruption.
Chavit Singson looks like a corrupt. So why bother?

Singson was obviously a juggling jester who pretended to possess still his police prowess and saved the day by escorting Ducat outside to detention,
held the no-boomer grenade and gun, waved his hands with his
ugly-looking yellow lens filtered spectacles, and made kembot that he was invincible for 5 minutes. And the policemen allowed it.

Now that’s what we call ‘obvious politicking’.

—————-

In spite of my preparation to attend the formal/semi formal/pretending to be formal for good time’s sake Philippine Blog Awards night, I wasn’t able to collect money from you blog readers and friends whom I thought would sympathize to my poverty.. shoo!
my mom for the transpo. Mom did have enough money, but huhuhuhu… Kuya
Prince had no allowance for his hospital duty. Huhuhuhuhu..

Blatantly stolen from Jhed. Whatever. =_=;;

Huhuhuhuu….
Nah, why attend? I know I will not win. The raffle? Nah, even if I win,
some blogger might block me at the exit, maul me to paralysis and then
steal my little iPodee from my shack. Sourgraping.

Boo. I envy you guys.

Editing several hour footages of interviews and scoops and compressing
it to 7 minutes are not that easy, especially when you haven’t outlined
how your news report should look like.

Here is our investigative/interpretative report about the Sangguniang Kabataan and its pending abolition in the Philippines.

I
know it’s not that good because it’s my first time to use Sony Vegas in
editing. It’s our very first time to do an actual 7-minute (difficult)
news coverage of an issue scooped for 3 months (really really
difficult). Imagine–to compress everything to 7 minutes? Sheesh. I
can’t imagine how difficult news reporting is to neophytes like moi.
hehe.

What do you think? Are you in favor of the SK abolition
and its substitute or should the Congress digress more issues about the
youth and tackle something else more significant for their welfare?

——-

BTW, I’m still uber busy. My apologies again if I can’t visit your blogs. Huhuhu.

——-

I know I’m not gonna win.
I’m estupido. Stupid people don’t win ^_^

And hey, I know I will not win but I want to attend the Philippine Blog Awards night on March 31, 2007. I don’t have the money. Please donate for my pamasahe. I would really want to. Hahahaha. Lol.

neil[dot]alexandro[at]gmail[dot]com